And Fashion Week? I’ve been working in New York so much over the past five years that it has reached a point of second-home familiarity. I take the subway between shows and appointments (there are way weirder sights to see underground in New York than a girl in heels) and can fairly well navigate dinner reservations, real estate market conversations and food fads of the moment.

London and Milan I hardly know at all – and the bleary eyes and deadened brains from too much meaningless small-talk, abuse from angry Eastern European men in the photo pit, and time ticking deliverables and staring at screens hardly lend the best capacity get to know either. Stick with what

you know: head down, working in the back of the car between shows, eating between the three decent Chinese restaurants in Milan because speaking Mandarin to curious waiters is far more comforting than straining tired brains for the miserable returns of fragmented Italian.

Per favore? Grazie mille?

But Paris (oh Paris) is a different story. No matter how many times I go, for work or for pleasure, the magic doesn’t seem to wear off. I am told that the façade disintegrates quite quickly once you actually live there. “I just want to buy everything I need at one supermarket,” one of my Kiwi friends who recently made the move

declared – “Having to run to a different place for every bloody food group and then everything else is not as Amélie as you’d think.” Fair. But work in Paris never feels like work – every show and showroom is in a more awe-inspiring location than the last. Paris’ blue shadows and yellow lights after dark make heady late nights working from your windowsill quietly poetic. Brutally early call times for shoots and meetings are softened by sunrise along the Seine – one of those tear-inducing sights to be absorbed in solitude with the stupidly cliché strains of an accordion puncturing your imagination.

You really can lock yourself up in a romantic sepia bubble, only allowing yourself to be rudely awakened to deal with logistical nightmares like the entire arrondissement surrounding your photo studio for the day being blocked off for a marathon, or traffic. Dear god the traffic. Fortunately, the car I had while I was in town was a practical Lexus with the most generously proportioned sunroof I’ve ever seen, so I spent most of my time (and I probably did clock more time stationary in traffic than I did at actual appointments) dividing my attention between my laptop and 18th century architecture and amber Autumn leaves rushing (or crawling) overhead.

Further to all that alternate reality of black and white French cinema, Paris Fashion Week really is its own beast. With the exception of breakout design talent or seismic shifts in old fashion houses (everyone had basically been holding their breath for Alessandro Michele’s next round of Gucci since Givenchy’s set and sentiment knocked us out in New York), Paris is essentially where the innovation happens. Nicolas Ghesquière, Raf Simons, Sarah Burton, Rick Owens… (and now perhaps Demna Gvasalia, is Kering has now decreed). That, and the shows are shows – performances with stories – rather than the expressionless up and down of sterile lighting.

Only Proenza Schouler gets away with that – their collections speak for themselves.

In Paris, Hussein Chalayan showered models in ice cold water, dissolving the paper shift dresses that had shielded the meticulously embroidered skintight and abstract reference to the evolution of Cuba – once fully cleansed, the girls walked the remainder of the runway, shivering and glistening with goosebumps and Swarovski crystals.

Chanel staged its usual Grand Palais fanfare, this time boarding Chanel Airlines with every It-model in the game, and instigating an inevitable onslaught of packing editorial still life stories (I can see it now “Travel in Style: 10 things to pack in your Chanel 2.55 suitcase”).

Dior built a gargantuan mound of delphiniums in the Louvre’s Cour Carée, and transported us all back to Picnic at Hanging Rock (through a white-lit rabbit-hole to an equally delphinium-carpeted

dome interior) with new age Victorian undergarments and futuristic ceramic talismans.

Further to the spectacle, Paris collections are truly international, and so increasingly seasonless. Unlike US-centric brands who, for a range of import-export tax handicaps, remain firmly focused on what safe pattern repeats will least freak out their loyal but conservative consumers, in Paris, there’s a market for furs and silks alike. Most of the Asian and Middle Eastern press and buyers I spoke to over the week admitted that they never bothered with New York, London or Milan – the grandeur of Paris was the one that spoke to their readers and clients.

For similar reasons, Delpozo, their comms team explained, will continue to show in New York for the press, and run their showroom in Paris for market, even with industry wondering every season when they’ll make the move to showing in Europe. In New York, they’re the standout that everybody looks forward to (alongside Proenza and probably Marc Jacobs).

So Paris, it seems, embodies both realms of cold hard commerce (plus a little leverage for fragrances and accessories while we’re at it), and the oft other-worldly realisations of genius minds that feed the soul and remind those who care why we put ourselves through this minefield of an industry, rather than admiring from safety afar. Sure, my brother is always the first to remind me in times of work-related hysteria that fashion isn’t saving any lives. Touché. But it does create beautiful things. Paris creates beautiful things.

Absolutely adore the light in all your photographs! Definitely agree that Australia is one the nicest places to reside in, minus that one racist person. P.s. That Lexus sunroof reminds me a bit of the Jurassic Park 4WD. :P All the best with the essay!

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Fei

Such a beautiful post. I admire your work and humbleness so much Margaret. X

the-aesthetics.com

Laura Montilla

Such cool and complete post! I couldn’t help but reading it from up to down!

By the way, I just updated my blog talking about flat shoes, for going chic and comfy in our everyday life this season. Take a look at it if you have a moment ;) http://www.chicpoint.wordpress.com

This, Margaret, is why I continue to live vicariously through your ever-fashionable endeavours whilst I continue to navigate through the wonderful world of commercial law (which definitely *does* feel like work – *sigh*).

Wow! That is such an amazing picture that I ever seen! First, you look so fashionable and know how to dressed up like a parisian and second, I love the Chanel show photos. Super love it! Keep inspiring dear ;)

Margaret if I could only choose one medium through which to experience Fashion week from afar it would be through you. Thank you for your stunning photography, contemplative thought and beautiful prose.

This seems awesome! I can’t imagine what it would feel like to work in Paris haha and while ready I was even thinking “I wonder if sitting in traffic in Paris is similar to sitting in traffic here in Toronto!?” hahaha I doubt it. Great Post Margaret.

So many incredible adventures, how beautiful was the Dior show! I love the fashion month, exploring new cities but I still have Sydney on my list, sounds and looks like an amazing place! Sorry to hear your time in London wasnt too good, i love living in this city but it takes time to get used to it and the weather doesn’t help : ) Xxhttp://sweatshirtsanddresses.com/

You perfectly describe the difference between NYFW and PFW. New York seems classic to the point of being stiff, with the exception of the shows you mention, while in Paris you can feel the creativity running free and alive.

I’m never bored when I come across your space. There’s something magical about Paris Fashion Week. Being my hometown, I can’t always afford to cross the sea to check the amazing US shows, but the Parisians one are the ones I die for, I always book this week so I can the see the art coming to life between the hands of men and women of incredible talent. No, Fashion ain’t saving life, but it saves from boredom, and eventually it’s a passion that for some of us – and it includes myself – are more than style, but Art! x

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About

Margaret Zhang is a Chinese-Australian photographer, director, stylist and writer based in New York. Since her digital beginnings in the fashion industry in 2009, Margaret has worked with global brands including Chanel, UNIQLO, Swarovski, YEEZY, Clinique, Lexus, Dior, Gucci, Matches and Louis Vuitton in a wide range of capacities both in front of and behind the camera, while completing her Bachelor of Commerce/Bachelor of Laws at The University of Sydney.
Though regularly featured in print and digital media as a model and personality alike, Margaret’s pho tography, styling, and creative direction has been employed by the likes of Vogue, L’Officiel, Harper’s BAZAAR, NYLON, Marie Claire, Buro24/7, and ELLE internationally. She has been listed in Forbes Asia’s 30Under30 and TimeOut’s 40Under40 lists, and her work has been recognised as shaping the international fashion industry by the Business of Fashion BoF500 Index, and ELLE Magazine’s Best Digital Influencer of The Year Award.